


Winter Wonder Hell

by Couyfish, Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas Decorations, Cover Art, Dean Winchester and Food, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Going to Hell, Happens Sometime During Mark of Cain Arc, Hell Freezes Over, Hints of Sastiel, Holidays, Humor, Jealous Dean Winchester, Kissing, LITERALLY, M/M, Mistletoe, Mooseley, Pining Dean Winchester, Podfic Welcome, Protective Dean Winchester, Ruler of Hell Crowley (Supernatural), Sam Winchester and Dogs, Sassy Crowley (Supernatural), Snow, cursed items
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-19 17:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16539245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couyfish/pseuds/Couyfish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: When Crowley blames Team Free Will for Hell freezing over, they know they’re not going to have a silent night or any peace on earth.





	1. Winchestered

**Author's Note:**

> It's November, the holiday season has begun, so here comes a somewhat crackish holiday fic! We'll be posting a new chapter every Tuesday, and it'll probably run at least until Christmas. Whatever holidays you may celebrate, we hope the last couple months of the year are lovely and merry for you all! 
> 
> I was so excited to start posting this fic that I painted it a piece of festive cover art, so I hope that's fun to look at as well. ♥ Comments and kudos make our day, as always!

It was a quiet day in the bunker. So quiet in fact, that Sam had recruited Dean to help him clean out yet another room full of random Men of Letters crap.

It had to be around dinner time. Dean’s stomach was telling him the food-o-meter was getting empty, when he heard his brother chuckle from behind a pile of dusty books and boxes.

Sammy stood up, holding up a cute little snow globe out for Dean to see. It was pretty big. He shook it and the glitter inside swirled, but in an oddly enchanting way. It sparkled and settled very quickly, like it was heavy.

The scene inside was a wine red roofed building with a little snowman in the yard that had a red ribbon on his top hat.

“This is cute. Kind of tacky, but cute.” Sam smiled and shook it again, this time with both hands. The scene inside twirled and glistened so much, it almost made Dean dizzy.

"Adorable," Dean said drolly, shaking his head. He'd had about enough of dust and ancient junk — it was time to get food. Something about the snow globe made him lean in, though, to watch the tiny white flakes of glitter settle down over the landscape.

It was mesmerizing. He almost felt cold looking at it, like the glitter was actual ice and snow.

Up close it looked more realistic, somehow, too. That was weird – usually tiny painted things looked hokier the closer you got. He swore he could even see teeny tiny icicles forming on the eaves of the house…

A loud grumble from his stomach snapped him out of the trance he'd fallen into.

"Sammy, my stomach's about ready to eat itself,” Dean informed his brother, eying the snow globe as he took a few steps back toward the door. "Can we finish this tomorrow? It's not like the dust won't wait."

“Alright, alright.” Sammy hugged the globe under his arm and climbed over the pile of boxes to Dean’s side. As he lifted his other leg over, though, the globe slipped out of his arms. It fell like a rock, slamming into the ground.

It didn’t shatter. Instead, the whole thing froze over and began to steam from the cold. Actual cold.

Sam dropped down and grabbed it, frowning.

“Jeez, I thought I broke it — OW!” He yanked his hand away and clutched it to his chest. The globe continued to steam, turning entirely white. Sam slowly looked up at Dean and pointed at it. “That’s weird.”

Dean's stomach grumbled loudly again to match the state of his thoughts.

"The Men of Letters wouldn't hang on to some random cutesy snow globe," he pointed out grouchily. "It's gotta be magic or something. Doesn't look like it's going anywhere, especially not if it's frozen to the floor, so c'mon. We can deal with it after we eat."

Pointedly, he turned and opened the door.

“Okay,” Sam grumbled behind him. When Dean looked back, he saw that Sam had taken off his flannel shirt. It was balled up in his arms now, and was suspiciously round. Dean didn’t have to guess why. Sam had used it to pick up the snow globe, which was peeking out the top of the shirt blob. The brunette followed Dean, poking at it through his sleeve and frowning.

He couldn’t just let it be, could he? He HAD to poke at it.

Rolling his eyes, Dean headed down the hallway. Sam must have found a way to ignore hunger pangs long ago – it was the only explanation he had for how his towering "little" brother managed to subsist on salad and other health food.

He'd order Sam a bunch of Thai food, he decided. Couldn't let him get fixated on some shiny object and starve to death, not on Dean's watch.

Now, pad thai, or pad see ew...

  


* * *

  


Winchestered.

Crowley had coined the term himself, but he only liked it when it applied to somebody else. Anybody who wasn't him. There was only one possible explanation for these events, and Winchestered was it.

The King of Hell stood impatiently outside the door of the infamous hunters' bunker, listening to his phone ring. Moose had damned well better pick up.

“Crowley?” Taller Winchester said from behind him. When the demon turned, he spotted both of the troublesome brothers walking up from the driveway. They were dressed for the crisp cold weather in scarves and coats.

Sam’s scarf was red with dark green stripes, while Dean’s own scarf looked horribly out of place in light blue and white against his otherwise somber attire. Maybe he borrowed it from Sam…

Whatever the case might have been, it ruined any attempt they had made at looking like mature, badass hunters. Sam was actually smiling at Crowley a bit, a big white takeout bag hugged in his arms.

“What’re YOU doing here?”

Crowley hung up on his call and turned to them, scowling. He had his tailored long black coat on over the usual suit, and had unwittingly matched the Winchesters with a scarf. His was a black one, though (of course), and knitted in a classy houndstooth pattern in the softest, most downy angora wool.

Demons did not generally get cold. He wouldn't NEED a bloody scarf if the troublesome two hadn't somehow...WINCHESTERED Hell.

Crossing his arms, Crowley glanced between the brothers, shaking his head.

"As if you don't bloody know why."

“Not really. Can we talk over dinner? The takeout’s getting cold.” Sam stepped around Crowley casually and headed down to the bunker’s door with his bag of food.

If being brushed off wasn’t annoying enough, it started to snow. The little glittery flakes fluttered down and dared to land on the demon’s nose.

Growling, Crowley shoved his phone into his coat pocket and hurried after Sam.

"If you had ANY idea of the day I've had..."

The door slammed behind him, and Dean practically jogged past with his own bag of food, like the table was trying to run away.

They just didn't care. The King of Hell was no cause for concern anymore to these two, who tugged cosmic strings and wrecked the natural order of Heaven and Hell on a routine basis. Crowley would have been furious over it if he wasn't also slightly impressed by their stupid overconfidence. And also tired – very tired.

“Did everyone skip lunch?” Moose wondered loudly, slowing his pace to match Crowley’s as Dean disappeared down the stairs into the Winchesters’ hideaway. He looked down at the demon with a frown. “I’ll share my pad see ew. Dean made me get a large.”

Crowley shot him a withering look, stopping in his tracks.

"Do anything different today, Moose?" He asked dryly. "Like, oh, tamper with the thermostat for HELL?"

The handsome brunette chuckled and started down the steps.

That…was seriously his only response? A LAUGH in the face?

Sam circled down the stairs and started unloading the takeout bag onto the table where Dean was already seated.

In the blink of an eye, Crowley was down by Sam's side, grabbing one end of his strangely-cute-yet-tacky red and green scarf.

"You didn't answer me. I know it sounds like a bloody punchline, but Hell is frozen over, and there's no POSSIBLE way you two are not responsible!"

Dean looked up from his takeout box of pad thai, raising his eyebrows.

"You hear that, Sammy? Hell froze over," he said slowly, with emphasis. The little grin that followed proved he really DID think it was a punch line, though. "Awesome, we didn't even have to know about it for it to be our fault! Next up, flying pigs."

“Frozen?” Sam echoed, frowning. At least that got a reaction. But he was still sort of smiling, too. “Hell froze over and you think it’s our fault?” He tugged the scarf out of the demon’s hand and slid off his coat. “Sorry, Crowley. In all seriousness, we’ve been in the bunker all day. Cleaning. No spells, charms or magical…” He trailed off slowly, glancing back up at Dean. “Hm.”

Dean glanced back, halfway through chewing another bite of his food, and blinked.

"No way." He shook his head. "C'mon, what are the chances? Red roof does NOT equal Hell."

Crowley took a deep breath. VERY calmly, if he did say so himself, he turned to Sam.

"What did you do?"

“Well,” Sam said quietly, rubbing his neck. He dropped his coat onto the back of a chair and went to the other table to pick up yet another flannel shirt off the top. This one had something wrapped inside of it, though. He came back over and showed it to Crowley. It was a frozen glass globe on a stand, steam drifting up off its exposed surface. “I found this earlier — and kinda dropped it. It froze over like this.”

He tapped it with his fingernail and looked at Crowley. “But come on. Why would anyone want to freeze Hell? Who cares?”

"I care!" Crowley tossed his hands up angrily. "My throne has icicles on it! The crossroads demons think it's one big long SNOW DAY and they're ice-skating on what USED to be a pit of bloody FIRE in my backyard. Now I either thaw things out fast, or I have to go kill half of my staff for insubordination!"

Dean was looking a little uneasy now. Still eating, though, Crowley noted.

"Uh..." He glanced at Sam, hesitating to say what they all must have been thinking. "Lucifer brings ice and cold with him. Bet he wouldn't mind Hell freezing over."

“Did you have to say his name?” Sam sighed heavily. He dropped the globe into Crowley’s arms. “If it was his, you can have it.”

Gingerly, the demon stepped over and placed it on the table next to Dean.

"How long ago did you break this?"

“I don’t know. We went to get food. The first place was closed, so we had to go to the other place…” He shrugged. “Two hours ago?”

“Good for you," Crowley replied sourly, glaring at the snow globe. "It's been ice and snow in Hell for almost two bloody WEEKS. I didn't just knee-jerk run off to blame you two morons, you know. Apparently I SHOULD have..."

Dean blinked and took another big bite of Thai food with his chopsticks.

"So...we can't un-break the thing. What do you want us to do, come snow shovel Hell's driveway?"

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"NO, Squirrel, I want you to FIX IT. Do your Winchester thing and muck up what should be possible, as usual."

“Wow.” Moose’s eyes widened and he grimaced up at the demon. “Sorry, but how were we supposed to know that it was connected to Hell? It just had a little house and a snowman in it!”

He left his food untouched and got up to pace the room.

“There wasn’t anything written on the box. It was shoved into a bigger box with some other Christmas stuff. Hmm.” Without further comment, he walked off down the hallway.

Crowley glanced back at the snow globe, and Dean waved the chopsticks at him.

"Go on, I'll babysit the Devil globe here," he said.

Crowley turned on his heel and hurried after Sam. Good to know Hell's problems weren't affecting Dean's appetite any...

  


* * *

  


Moose was rummaging through boxes in a back room of the bunker, stirring up a truly frightening amount of dust into the air.

He crawled over a stack of boxes and sat down yet another box. It was packed full of brightly colored holiday ornaments. The brunette poked through it, lifting out a sprig of fake mistletoe.

“I don’t think any of this is connected to the globe.”

Crowley stepped over to stand beside him, shoving both hands into the pockets of his long coat.

"Were there any sigils or anything magical-looking inside the globe before it froze over?" He asked, sighing.

Sam looked up at him, dusting off the mistletoe.

“No. It looked completely normal to me. A little tree, a house, a snowman. It had a lot of red. The roof of the house was red and the little snowman had a red thing on his hat. But everything’s red when it comes to Christmas.” He held up the mistletoe and gestured to the gaudy bow around it. “Red and green.”

The demon's gaze turned upwards to the little sprig of green leaves and white berries. He was holding it RIGHT over Crowley's head and everything, and for someone as absorbed in knowledge of symbolism as Sam Winchester, he could not be oblivious to the tradition he was invoking.

"Are we hoping for a kiss?" The demon asked sweetly, smirking. Actually kissing Sam seemed unwise at the moment. He was too bitter over Hell's predicament right now to really laugh it off if he got stabbed or slapped for his trouble.

Having Sam kiss HIM, though...that didn't sound so bad.

“Ah. No.” Sam blushed, shaking his head. He still had the mistletoe held over their heads, though, as he looked up at it.

Then back to Crowley.

“My…my arm’s stuck.” 


	2. Mistle Tinsel Toe

Sam swayed, grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the mistletoe and straining to tug on it. “Dean!” He yelled sharply, slapping a hand over his face. “Dammit.” 

Crowley raised his eyebrows, looking from the mistletoe to Sam's face.

"You need to kiss me, I bet," he said mildly. "It's mistletoe. What else, right?"

“In your dreams.” Sam laughed and shook his head. “Go get Dean. Come on. Hell’s frozen, remember? We don’t have time for this!” He yanked on his arm again, even briefly hanging from it in the air for a few seconds. After that attempt to free himself, Sam looked a little panicked. He stared down into the box with a scowl. “Is all of this shit cursed?” 

Crowley pulled his hands out of his pockets, grabbing Sam's raised wrist and giving it a careful tug. It did not budge.

"Hmm. If I pull any harder I'll snap your wrist," he said, letting go. "Oh, and sorry about the bruises you're going to have, there..."

“Yeah!” Sam hissed in pain. “Don’t…don’t touch me. If you don’t want to GO get Dean, just call him! I would, but my phone’s upstairs in my coat.” 

"You really think he can figure this out if you can't?" Crowley asked drolly. Despite his words, he vanished. Seconds later, he and Dean reappeared, Sam's brother looking confused and still holding his chopsticks.

Gesturing to Sam, the King of Hell declared, "Ta-da. Tell your brother the blatantly OBVIOUS solution for cursed mistletoe is a bloody kiss and let's get on with it."

Dean dropped the chopsticks and hurried over to Sam's side, wide-eyed.

"Whoa...did it force you to hold it up like that?"

“No.” Sam slouched, hanging from his captured arm. “I don’t know, maybe? Whatever. My arm is stuck! Don’t touch anything in the box. I think they’re all cursed.” 

Dean stepped up and looked at the mistletoe carefully. As Crowley already knew, it was just a sprig of not-that-realistic fake berries and leaves, wrapped in a big red bow and coated with a little dust still.

"...Hate to say this, Sammy, but Crowley's probably got the right idea," he said finally, glancing over at the demon. "Mistletoe's only really about one thing — people kissing under it."

Crowley blinked. He'd expected them to come to the same conclusion, but not really with that much respect to the fact that he'd thought of it first.

"Thank you," he said, willing himself to frown again. Dean should not summon up any warm and fuzzy feelings, and Sam shouldn't look that attractive hanging from his arm...with his torso all stretched out to his full height like that, and just a bit of skin visible under the hem of his shirt...

“Knock it off!” Sam growled, catching him staring. He rubbed his forehead and ground his teeth. “I don’t suppose it would settle for a kiss on the cheek? That’s a thing, right?” He looked miserably at Dean, already guessing the answer. "Platonic love?"

Dean just shot him a look that said, 'Really?'

Crowley stepped over, looking up at the mistletoe again before focusing on Sam.

"Moose, you're the SMART one," he said, ignoring Dean's affronted look. "If it was anybody else stuck in your predicament, you would recommend kissing. It's MISTLETOE."

“FINE!” The big brunette groaned, casting a glare of death up at the mistletoe. He sat up straight and looked at Crowley with a very resigned frown. “Do it.”

"You act like it's going to hurt," the demon grumbled, stepping closer until they were chest to chest, the mistletoe hanging directly above their heads.

Dean abruptly turned around and found the cursed ornament box EXTREMELY fascinating.

Sam's arm was raised high enough that he couldn't really lean down, so Crowley stood on the tips of his toes to press their lips together, bracing a hand on the brunette's chest.

For...balance.

He felt Sam flinch at his touch, tensing up at first, then leaning into it. His arm found its way behind the demon, pulling against Moose’s delightfully broad shoulders in the process. 

Then it was over — the sprig of mistletoe landing flat on Crowley’s head. 

Flustered, Sam shied away from him instantly, rubbing the shoulder of his now free arm. 

“It worked,” he breathed, looking anywhere but at Crowley. 

"Mmmhmm." The demon tilted his head, letting the mistletoe fall onto the floor. "Let's hope the snow globe was the only thing tied to Hell, or who knows what's going on back there right now..."

He was a bit surprised and bemused that Sam was so flustered by the kiss. He didn't seem particularly interested in Crowley's attention – he didn't even like the demon looking at him for too long.

No matter...the King of Hell had better things to do. Namely, fixing Hell.

"Okay..." Dean slowly turned around from the box of cursed ornaments. "I swear to God, I did NOT pick it up. It jumped on me."

The front of his shirt was coated in silver tinsel. Coated like he'd rolled in it.

“I said not to touch anything!” Sam snapped, squinting at his brother’s shirt. He frowned. “How do we cure tinsel?”

Dean held up his hands. 

"I did NOT touch it! It's static or something, it FLEW out of the friggin' box!"

"Quick, what's the cliche use for tinsel?" Crowley stepped over and studied Dean's torso carefully. The tinsel, he studied the tinsel.

Dean sighed heavily.

"I don't know, let your cat eat it? We grew up on the road, we don't really decorate for Christmas."

“It’s just tinsel. It makes things pretty.” Moose shrugged. “We should just burn the whole damn box.”

Crowley sat back and shrugged, sticking his hands back into the pockets of his coat.

"What are some traditions that have to do with tinsel?" He clarified, glancing over at Sam. "Kissing satisfied the mistletoe, what does tinsel WANT you do with it?"

Tinsel was made to look like icicles. That was all Hell needed right now.

"The only thing people say about tinsel to ME is that cats eat it," Dean grumbled. "And it gets tangled up easy and never really goes away."

“It looks like icicles. It’s pretty. Cats aren’t supposed to eat it… Just take off your shirt. We’ll burn that, too.” Sam grumbled, then he picked up the box of cursed items and started back toward the main room. He seemed to still be in a bit of tizzy over the kiss. 

Dean continued to grumble and started after him. Crowley appeared back in the dining room next to the snow globe, taking a seat in Dean's chair. Propping his elbow on the table, he leaned his chin in one hand and studied the frosty orb.

If the box of ornaments were originally made for or by Lucifer, they were powerful magical items, as silly and harmless as they looked. What they were not was haunted, so burning them might not be the best move...yet.

Sam jumped when he spotted Crowley. Frowning, he shook his head and and slammed the box down on the table in front of the demon.

“Let’s see what’s in here. Okay. We’ve got the mistletoe, tinsel, and the snow globe. Then a reindeer statue.” He poked through it carefully as he spoke, frowning. “A cookie cutter?” He held up a metal gingerbread man shaped cutter. He tossed it aside and kept digging. “There’s also some oven mitts, a red candle, and this cute little angel tree topper.” 

He held up the little angel. It was a minimalistic take on a doll, with fluffy wings and a bell shaped gown. She had black curls over her shoulders. Her face was painted as if she was sleeping or something, with closed long eyelashes, dot blush marks and a tiny little smile. Moose smiled a bit at seeing her and sat her back into the box. 

“I don’t think any of this stuff will help with the globe.” 

Crowley studied the angel in particular, utterly ignoring Dean's dirty look at his stolen seat as the older brother sat in another across the table from them.

"Don't be so hasty to burn the whole lot," the demon said, staying leaned on his hand still. Honestly, he didn't WANT to suggest what he was about to, because this was kind of like a little vacation, coming up here...

He sighed.

"What if more than just the globe affects Hell? You boys ought to visit with me, see if anything matches up with the items."

“The, uh, mistletoe seemed to be fixed just by kissing under it. I doubt that had any effect on Hell.” Sam gingerly patted the angel doll’s head, momentarily distracted by pinching a curl between his fingertips. He sat up and sighed, looking at Crowley. “No offense, but I don’t want to go to Hell again. Ever.” 

"Since you got yourself into the mistletoe mess AFTER I arrived, Moose, who knows if it affected Hell?" Crowley sat up, gesturing to Dean as the hunter pulled his shirt off with the tinsel all over it. The silvery stuff stayed coating his torso, though, like an undershirt. "For all we know, my throne room is adorned with icicles thanks to you two." Well, more icicles than before.

Dean frowned down at himself.

"...I'm gonna call Cas."

“I’ll make some coffee.” Sam ducked away into the kitchen, casting one last look at Crowley before he disappeared from view.  


* * *

  
Dean stepped into the kitchen just as Sam had flipped the switch on the coffee pot. This whole thing was ridiculous, and he was beginning to think Crowley had planted the box of ornaments there somehow to get him and Sam wrapped up in things.

‘Wrapped up’ was apt at the moment, with the damn tinsel armor he had on. At least the box hadn't contained any gift wrap.

"So..." Dean peeked out of the kitchen to be sure Crowley hadn't followed him from the main room. Nope. he turned back to Sam, frowning. "I know we didn't do it on purpose, but Hell isn't exactly supposed to be frozen over. Are we gonna try and do anything about it?"

Sam turned away from the coffee pot to give Dean a dubious frown.

“Doesn't this all seem a little weird? Even for us? A box of cursed Christmas items that mess up Hell sounds like a bad joke. I know Lucifer’s a jerk, but jeez.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and sighed. “I guess it was my fault. I'll go to Hell with him. Just save me some coffee.”

Really? Dean snorted and crossed his arms over his sparkly silver chest.

"Not gonna happen. C'mon, Crowley just laid one on ya under the mistletoe, Lucifer's still IN Hell in his cage, and I want this damn sparkle suit off. We're both going," he insisted.

“Don't bring that up. Please. I wouldn't have kissed him if I didn't have to.” His little brother's expression changed to one of misery, his cheeks flushing. Sam shrugged, though. He didn't seem to have the energy to protest against Dean coming along as he said, “Okay. We'll both go. I don't think going there will help. It's a pretty solid bet that the snow globe made Hell freeze. If the mistletoe did anything, I sorta...don't want to see.”

"How about this?" Dean gestured down to his tinsel shirt, exasperated. "Look, I'm not totally convinced this is some Satan trolling plan. Maybe Crowley set it up to get us to go to Hell with him."

It HAD been the King's suggestion that they go to Hell and try to solve the problem from there. Dean hadn't seen the place frozen over with his own eyes — they just had Crowley's word that it was frozen.

“That's actually a really good point. Huh.” Sam frowned again, pacing over to peek out of the kitchen. “Maybe we should put off going for a bit? Then again, there's no way of knowing if we don't go. It's not like we have another demon we can call up and ask about the weather in Hell.”

No, they really didn't. When your demon contact was the King of Hell, what other demon did you really need to bother with?

"Let's have coffee and you can do your nerdy research thing," he suggested. "It'll stall any trips to Hell, and if you can find some Men of Letters records about a box of evil cursed Christmas decorations then we know Crowley didn't plant them there for us to find."

“Sounds like a...plan.” Sam turned and went directly back to the coffee pot, waiting for it to finish dripping. "We probably should have called Cas though. Crowley's never going to let me live it down. You know. With the mistletoe," he added shyly.

Dean again peeked out the door to be sure the demon wasn't right there listening. Empty hallway...good.

Turning back to Sam, he admitted, "Well, it DID work." He shrugged "I'll call Cas and see if he's got any idea if Lucifer ever made any evil Christmas stuff. If we go to Hell, though, we go together, okay?"

That was followed by an expectant stare, because he wanted some kind of confirmation. Sam running off to Hell without him to try and solve the case alone didn't seem THAT unlikely.

Unfortunately.

There was an uncomfortably long pause as gear turned behind Sam's eyes...then he nodded.

“Okay.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and blew on it, still thinking hard on something. Hopefully not the smooch from the King of Hell.

Dean nodded again and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Guess I'll call Cas now." He wasn't looking forward to the angel's reaction to the stupid tinsel shirt, but whatever...maybe he could help get rid of it.


	3. Jingle Hells

The big Moose came back into the room carefully, two cups of coffee in his hands. He came over and deposited one of the lovely brews right in front of Crowley before joining him at the table.

“Look, I'm sorry about Hell.”

Crowley looked up from the frosty snow globe, which he'd been sitting and staring at again with his chin propped up on one hand.

"No you're not," he replied knowingly, sitting up and reaching for the coffee. Something hot sounded kind of nice right about now.

Sam looked a little guilty as he took a sip of his own drink. Then he focused on Crowley again, shiny hazel eyes curious.

“You said you checked out some other reason Hell might freeze over before you came here. What did you think was the cause at first? Like, angels or something?”

Crowley blinked and sat up in his seat, trying his coffee. Moose liked it VERY strong, apparently. Wow.

"Demons," he replied, the exasperation coming through more than he'd planned in his tone of voice. "Any time Hell has a problem, the first place I look is at my own followers. There's always some upstart trying to get the Devil out of his cage and onto my throne where they think he belongs."

He paused here to scowl and drink more of the stout coffee. An awful lot of Hell's inhabitants were total power-hungry morons, and it was exhausting and infuriating dealing with them. The bunker was like a vacation spot right now — and he wasn't looking forward to going back to work.

“Really?” Moose asked, eyebrows pinching together sharply. He looked a little scared. Sipping his coffee again, he frowned into it. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be that strong. “We can't let that happen. You need to stay on that throne.” 

"Satan is staying right where he is," Crowley assured him. That was the only reason he could figure for why Sam would be scared of him losing the throne. That, and maybe the fact that any OTHER King of Hell would be sending demons after the two flannel-clad dreamboats on a daily basis.

He studied Sam's expression for a thoughtful moment, sipping his coffee once more.

"...So how about it, Moose? Will you come take a little tour of the underworld office with me, see if we can't find something suspicious besides the snow?" He asked seriously.

“Uh,” Sam mumbled, glancing at the kitchen door. “Sure. We can do that.” Ducking his head a bit, he suddenly scooted his chair closer to Crowley's, whispering to him. “But Dean shouldn't really go there right now. With the Mark and all.”

Having Sam this close was reminding Crowley of the mistletoe kiss earlier. He looked at Sam thoughtfully once more (if being studied that closely was uncomfortable than he wouldn't have scooted his chair so close, right?)

"I agree," he replied mildly. "And he knows it, too, he just doesn't trust me to go it alone with you, though I don't bloody well know why NOT after all we've been through together." Dean had been a lot less of a stick in the mud when he was a demon. Sigh.

“I can't just run away with you. Not...like that.” The brunette blushed suddenly and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn't mean it like that. I mean – never mind. Dean's gonna be pissed if we just run off. Maybe we should—” He glanced at the door again and lowered his voice to an unreasonably sexy whisper. “Maybe we should wait until we all turn in.”

Being whispered to, Crowley decided, was something he'd like to happen more often. Especially if it was Sam doing the whispering.

Leaning in closer to the brunette, he lowered his voice to a pleasant, purring little whisper right back and pretended they were discussing something more fun.

"I like it — what Dean doesn't know won't hurt him. And you'll be perfectly safe in Hell with the King by your side."

Moose's delicious lips curved into a smile and he nodded, still whispering.

“We'll 'decide' to wait until tomorrow, and then hit the hay. Where do you want to meet up?”

"You don't have to go far — go outside of the warded walls, and I'll find you," the demon promised. He wanted to smile back, maybe even smirk, but Sam's lips actually distracted him out of it. He was grateful mistletoe existed right about now, but also very annoyed there wasn't any right over their heads to provide another good excuse.

This felt so much like carrying on a sneaky affair right under Dean's nose. Why couldn't it really be that? Sigh.

“Okay, sounds good!” Sam quickly scooted his chair away and scooped his coffee cup up so fast that he almost spilled it, glancing at the kitchen door again.

The absolute nothing in the doorway just made him look skittish. Gorgeous and skittish, though. Crowley picked up his coffee again and nonchalantly took a sip.

"If Dean called the angel, of course, then not everybody here sleeps," he noted.

Sam frowned and scooted his chair back over, keeping wide eyes on the doorway. He leaned over beside the demon again.

“Damn. I didn't think of that.” He looked at Crowley with those eyes. Those big, shiny Moose eyes. “What should we do?”

Oh, that face. How did he do that?

Crowley sat his coffee down, getting to his feet. Dramatically, he offered Sam his hand.

"We should just go. Come on. Feathers can't fly into Hell, but they could give us a call, check up on us." He glanced down at the floor, as if Hell was right there beneath their feet. It was, in a way. "Cell reception's fantastic down there."

Sam took his hand, standing up and immediately towering over the King. He looked down at their hands and his face flushed again.

“Maybe we should tell Dean...” He thought it over a second and shook his head. “Never mind. Let's go.”

Crowley smiled and placed his other hand over Moose's. The world flickered blackish, and they vanished, leaving two steaming half cups of coffee at the table.

Sam squeezed his hand tightly, looking alarmed at the change in scenery. Snowflakes landed on his head and shoulders, and he looked up at the ceiling.

“Wow. You weren't kidding.”

Crowley looked around his office and noted that everything in there was dusted in snowflakes and lightly sparkling with ice. Even indoors now...bloody Hell.

He turned to Sam, still holding onto his hand, and raised his eyebrows.

"Told you." He paused, frowning and looking the brunette up and down. "...You aren't going to freeze to death down here, are you? Demons don't really get cold."

It was, indeed, like a meat locker in there. The walls sparkled with little ice crystals, ruining any paintings hanging on them. Sigh.

The brunette had ditched his coat and scarf in the safety of the bunker. He was just in his dark blue flannel and jeans. He tugged at the collar of Crowley's overcoat.

“Don't suppose you have a spare?”

"This is tailored, Moose," the demon replied dryly. "It's not going to fit you." Generally somebody grabbing your collar and tugging on it was an angry in-your-face thing, but it was nice to think about how it could lead to kissing instead.

Leading Sam across the room by the hand, Crowley stopped in front of the wardrobe doors built into the wall there. Reluctantly, he released Sam's hand and went rummaging through the clothing in there. After a moment, he turned back to Sam with...one of Sam's jackets.

One Sam probably thought he lost a long time ago.

"Here we are, this is a better idea."

“That's mine.” Sam raised an eyebrow at the jacket, but he wasted no time in slipping it on. He shivered and then gave Crowley a cheeky smile. “If I take this, how're you going to curse me later?”

"Oh, I've got a backup item stowed somewhere else," the demon replied matter-of-factly, smirking back. "You're just lucky it was a jacket you forgot on a chair that one time. You should see what items I've got for your brother."

Deciding to leave those items shrouded in mystery, the King of Hell straightened the ends of his houndstooth scarf and waved for Sam to follow him. The throne room was just down the hall. Any other day it would be teeming with moronic underlings, but their childish excitement about the snow actually proved to be a plus right now; the place was pretty empty.

“Let me guess – underwear?” The tall brunette laughed, stepping after him. He looked around them as they walked, eyes sparkling with amusement. He was still smiling a little. Hell freezing over seemed to be funny to him. Maybe the Winchesters HAD done it on purpose.

That reminded Crowley, he'd intended for them to bring the cursed ornament box along with. Damn it. They couldn't go back now, though, or Castiel might be standing by ready to smite him.

"Possibly," he replied smugly, not wanting to ruin Sam's good mood. If he did do this on purpose, did he plan to go visit Hell with Crowley, then? That was so devious and smart, Crowley kind of hoped so.

The throne room was completely abandoned; some paper pusher had left his laptop on the side table, and it was coated in a thin, glistening layer of ice. Icicles jutted down from every available surface on his throne, and the seat was a crystalline field of frost.

Sam ran his hands over the laptop, a mixture of fascination and dismay on his face.

“Well. I'd say there's definitely a connection. The globe looks just like this and broke at a time that lines up.” He sat up straight and turned to Crowley. “Time! Time passes faster down here. We might be able to look around and get home without Dean noticing.”

Crowley shrugged a little. It was true, they could spend days here before even an hour had passed on earth. Hopefully it didn't take that bloody long to fix, though.

"Well," he began, tugging on the ends of his scarf again. "Never been to Hell as a guest before, have you? I can give you a little tour."

“No thanks. Let's just take a look around.” Sam frowned. “The globe had a house AND a little snowman. Do you think the snowman was supposed to be Hell's ruler?”

"Or he's the Devil," Crowley replied flatly. "Depends on when the snow globe was made, I suppose. Until you and Squirrel kicked the hornet's nest with Lilith, Lucifer was in his cage for an EXTREMELY long time."

He took one last glance at the throne and turned on his heel, heading for the door. "Come on, Moose, we haven't found the tinsel yet." Hopefully since they'd given the mistletoe what it wanted, it wasn't doing anything to Hell. Maybe the snow globe WAS the only thing that was Hell-specific.

“The tinsel. Right. I can't think of what it would want.” Moose trailed after him, matching his pace to walk at his side. “Maybe a cat's supposed to eat Dean.”

Hell was less fire and brimstone than Sam probably remembered. There wasn't even any screaming when they passed by the dungeon. All of his torturers were probably out playing snow bunny, Crowley thought, scowling at the door.

"Stay close to me, Moose," he told the human as they reached the end of a particular long, dark hallway (after navigating several other long, dark hallways, after passing the large, dark dungeon. Hell's interior decorating was very consistent.)

"Last I checked the Hellhounds were as discombobulated over this bloody snow as my demons, but you're alive — you smell different. You never know."

“Hellhounds?” Sam asked with a cringe, swerving to walk closely next to Crowley. He glanced around them slowly. “I thought they only killed people when they wanted their souls.”

Moose tucked his hands into his coat pockets, hunching in anticipation. So much for a casual stroll. Now he was on high alert.

"On EARTH they're only there to collect souls and to guard things," Crowley clarified, smirking at how close Sam was suddenly walking. He wasn't complaining. "Don't worry your pretty head, now — you're walking with the King, remember?"

He hummed and unlatched the handle of the heavy metal door they'd come to, pulling it aside.


	4. The Eternal Snow Day of the (Damned) Soul

A blast of icy air hit them both, gusting Sam's hair and Crowley's scarf out behind them. It was bitterly cold out there, and snowflakes the size of quarters pattered onto the chests of both men's jackets and the front of their pants legs.

Hell looked...bright. The landscape outside was an endless expanse of pure white snow, sparkling ice crystals, and a dull grayish sky that somehow seemed to hung too low to be real.

Sam stepped out the door immediately, looking the view over with big shiny eyes and a smile. He turned to Crowley, still smiling. 

“Wow. This is way better then it was. We should just leave it like this,” he said with a shrug. 

Crowley crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, that's brilliant. Yes, let's tell people that when they're damned they get to go dwell in an ETERNAL SNOW DAY," he grumbled. "This is HELL, it's not supposed to put that big sappy smile on your face."

Sam was really attractive when he smiled for real, he had to admit. His hazel eyes squinted a little, and he had the BEST, most perfect dimples framing those pretty lips and nice white smile... Sigh. The snowflakes landing on his eyelashes and in his tousled hair were not helping.

“Some people hate snow.” Moose was still smiling as he turned to scoop up a handful of snow, tossing it and patting it into a ball. He spun and lobbed it straight at Crowley’s chest. 

Not surprisingly, he was a good shot — the snowball landed squarely on the front of Crowley's black jacket, powdering white ice crystals all over it. The demon shook his head, glancing down at it.

"You're lucky you're so pretty, Moose, or your feet would be sticking out of that snowbank right about now," Crowley said drolly, waving a hand behind Sam.

A spine-tingling howl echoed out over the snowy, Hellish...hills. Crowley glanced around nonchalantly.

"Somebody's got wind of a living soul down here in the pit."

Sam practically dove past him, grabbing onto Crowley’s arms and taking cover behind him. He leaned over the demon’s shoulders, wide eyes scanning the horizon. He glanced at Crowley. 

“You can control them though, right?” 

Ooh, clinging. Arm grabbing. Crowley didn't mind leaving him in suspense for a long moment while he glanced over his shoulder. For…dramatic effect.

"Of course. I'm the King," he replied mildly. "Just don't wander off or I might never see you again."

There came a chilling baying from over the snowdrift Crowley had just been pointing out. Loud snuffling breaths and snow being kicked up made it clear that it was only ONE Hellhound...for the moment.

Idly, Crowley wondered if Sam would be able to see the hounds while he was in Hell. Usually even humans could while damned or near death, but Sam was perfectly alive...and he certainly was not damned at the moment. No deals in sight.

“That kiss back in the bunker was a freebie…right?” The Moose ducked behind him, keeping a death grip on the demon’s arms. “No souls exchanged or Hellhounds involved?” 

Crowley tried to turn around immediately at that, scowling. 

"I HOPE you're trying to be funny," he said, offended. Sam's grip was pretty tight, but he was no demon — Crowley pulled his arms free and rotated around so that they were chest to chest, looking up at the brunette nearly nose to nose.

"Let me be perfectly clear," he said, still scowling. "If I bought your soul, Moose, you would know it. I would lay out the terms, you would sign on the dotted line, and only then would I kiss you like you didn't have another ten years to live before your soul flutters down here to Papa."

“I know that,” Sam said stiffly. He glanced around them nervously before turning his attention back to Crowley. “I was joking. Jeez! There’s always paperwork with you. It’s sort of your only reason for living.” 

That had been a joke? Crowley rolled his eyes to buy a few seconds to come up with a response, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. He was generally a lot more unflappable than this, but for some reason having Sam doubt his integrity really, really got to him.

Why did he CARE what the handsome Moose thought? He could take his cute dimples and pretty hair and go to...well, they were already IN Hell. Hmm.

A sudden, very loud baying from behind him made him flinch — grabbing Sam by the shoulders to avoid crashing forward right into his chest. Right, right, Hellhound...

The tall brunette caught him in his arms, squeezing him in alarm. His eyes were locked somewhere right over Crowley’s shoulder. Perhaps he could see the Hellhounds after all… 

The noisy Hellhound was actually a reassuring thing — Crowley recognized which one it was now.

He could have easily gotten out of Sam's grip, but being wrapped in his arms wasn't exactly a bad thing. Instead the demon stayed where he was, glancing over his shoulder to try and glimpse the demon dog.

"Juliet, love," he said, shifting his voice to a smooth, sweet tone. He was practically purring. "Did you miss Papa? Aww, you stopped your playing in the snow just to come see me. What a darling."

He shifted to looking up at Sam, trying to catch his gaze. The cooing tone didn't change one bit as he added sweetly, "Best let me turn around, Moose. Stick close, though."

“G-good girl,” Sam stammered, still hugging Crowley closely. He loosened his grip and took a timid step closer to the door that they had come out of. 

Crowley rotated in his arms to face the Hellhound, taking a step back to follow Sam. Juliet really wasn't any threat, but the sooner Sam believed that, the sooner he'd stop being so clingy.

Juliet had crashed right through the snowdrift he'd joked about tossing Sam into. She had snow all over her snout and a little piled on top of her head comically like a hat. Other than that, she wore the biggest grinning, panting happy dog face one would ever see in a place like Hell.

Crowley smiled at her and held out his hands. His little Hellpup had grown to gigantic, almost horse-like proportions, but she would always be his baby.

"Come here, darling," he cooed, and Juliet bounded over and nosed her big snout right up against his shoulder. In fact, she rested her head on his shoulder, which left her nearly eye to eye with Sam.

Crowley scratched behind her pointed ears, noting that she was not growling and snarling.

Good sign, that.

Sam let him go and moved away, stepping around into Crowley’s view. His expression was a mix of fear and fascination. He tucked his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet a little. 

“…Can I pet her?” 

Juliet was sitting in front of Crowley, and nearly the same height as him that way. Her tail was wagging, making tracks in the snow like a snow angel’s wing. Oh, the irony.

"Go ahead, she's not in any mood to attack anything," Crowley told Sam, sitting back enough to cup Juliet's big face in his hands and coo to her, "Isn't that right, love? You're so, SO happy about all of this snow, aren't you? First thing I've liked about it is that you like it."

Staying where he was, Sam stretched out an arm to reach and pet Juliet’s back. He patted her experimentally like she might snap off his arm. When she didn’t, he smiled and rubbed her back. 

“Do you have to be a dog person to rule Hell?” He sneaked a tiny bit closer and petted Juliet’s head too. 

The Hellhound snuffed happily at Crowley's scarf and continued to wag her tail. Crowley hugged around her neck with one arm and half turned to talk to Sam.

"Not really — the Hellhounds are usually the King of the Crossroads' responsibility," he explained. "Just so happens that I was King of THAT before I was King of Hell, though, so I know all about the pups." He turned and planted a kiss on Juliet's nose, smiling. "And they're all fond of me."

“God, it’s a good thing Dean isn’t here,” Sam mumbled, still petting Juliet’s head. “We should probably keep looking around. I don’t see anything to do with mistletoe or tinsel yet. Maybe it really was just the snow globe.” 

"Juliet can help," Crowley said, nodding. "She could track anything." Releasing the Hellhound from the hug finally, he patted her nose and smiled. "Come along, darling. We're going for a little stroll in the winter wonderland."

Juliet gave a little (well, large-sounding) bark and got to her feet, watching Sam and Crowley both carefully for some cue to start following them.

Sam sidled around her, stepping up to be shoulder to shoulder with Crowley. He glanced down. 

“I should call my brother.”

"Mm. It's been maybe a minute or two up there for him," Crowley pointed out mildly. "Unless you need his help for something here, might be better that we sneak back without him finding out we were ever gone."

There was a particularly frigid gust of wind, stirring tendrils of ice and snowflakes from the hills around them. The demon didn't particularly care, but Sam was human. He'd probably freeze if they stuck around outside too long.

Juliet was bouncing through a few nearby snowdrifts. She stayed close, but she couldn't resist playing in the fluffy white stuff.

“You have a point. Wow,” Sam said. He was walking so close to Crowley, the demon was in danger of being elbowed. 

The big brunette's hair whipped around his face as he smiled nervously at the Hellhound. Sam was definitely a dog person, and it seemed that as terrifying as Juliet could be, she was still cute to him. The nervousness faded from that blindingly handsome smile and then suddenly Sam was looking down at Crowley. 

“I always forget about the whole 'time distortion' thing.” 

Crowley looked up at him, the ends of his houndstooth scarf flapping in the wind. He hadn't actually expected Sam to be this enthusiastic about visiting Hell with him, but it was a nice surprise. Especially nice to look at. Sigh.

"We should go back indoors before you freeze in place," Crowley decided, glancing at the snowscape around them. He pointed at a dip in the landscape. "I wasn't kidding about the bloody ice-skating. It looks like the damned Olympics down there right now."

Olympics for the Damned actually sounded sort of fun. Hmm. He'd file that idea away.

Sam glanced, frowning slowly. 

Several of Crowley's minions were hand in hand, gliding around the small icy ring. They looked happy. So annoyingly happy. 

“Uh, yeah,” the Winchester said, rubbing his neck. “We should try to have Juliet find...um...whatever she's going to find. If we want to sneak back before Dean finds out we're missing, we should hurry.” 

Knowing Squirrel, it wouldn't take him more than a few minutes to search the entire bloody bunker and find his little brother absent. Then would come the brotherly angst and arguments. Which would just make fixing Hell take THAT much longer.


	5. Digging Through the Snow

As if on cue (or as if trying to make Crowley's day worse), Sam's phone started to ring. The wind was howling a little, but that was a definite ringtone sound to go with it.

Juliet had her nose buried in the snow and was snuffing around on the ground, looking for something. Crowley frowned and turned to Sam.

"Tell me that's not your brother. How long has it been up there, five minutes?"

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket like it was on fire, cringing at the screen. He tapped it with a thumb and pressed it to his ear, bracing himself. 

“Hey Dean,” he said nicely, giving Juliet a glance. “What's up?” 

"Are you in Hell?" Crowley could just barely make out Dean's voice over the whistling of the wind. Snowflakes were turning one side of Juliet white, but she didn't look bothered.

"Not mincing with words, is he?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "We're out of his sight for five minutes and he calls you up? Short, short leash, Moose."

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, stepping closer and leaning his head against the demon's so he could hear the phone too. “We're just checking out the situation down here. I'm okay. I'm with Crowley and we're just looking around. No spells or contracts. I swear.” 

"I knew it." Dean sounded like he was shaking his head. "We talked about this, Sam. You looked me in the eye and agreed we'd go together if we went at all!"

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Of course he'd already managed to come up with some brotherly pact over this stupid predicament. That was SUCH a Dean thing to do.

Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, the demon waved Juliet over and sat his other palm on her forehead. The air flickered, and suddenly they were in the ice-encrusted throne room again. Sam wouldn't be AS cold out of the wind, right?

“It's a mess down here. Very...Christmas-y. It's snowing straight out of the ceiling!” Sam explained quickly. He looked around at the change of scenery and the Hellhound, seeming a little nervous again. “We'll be back in a few minutes, alright? Juliet seems like she's onto something.” 

"A few Hell minutes or a few living people minutes?" Dean replied grumpily. "Because guess what? It's snowing out of the damned ceiling HERE, too."

Crowley sat up and blinked. That couldn't possibly be a coincidence...

“It's...what?” Sam turned and stared down at Crowley with wide hazel eyes. “In the bunker? What the hell... We should leave,” he added to the King. “The items are affecting Earth!” 

Which was apparently much more important than Hell. Go figure. 

Crowley shrugged, dusting snow off of Juliet's face and side. 

"Why not? Juliet might find something in your bunker that'll help," he said, patting her head. "Follow Papa, darling. We're going for a little walk upstairs."

Turning to Sam, he offered his hand. "Shall we?"

“Uh...we're coming up. Just a sec.” Sam hung up the phone and stowed it in his pocket. He cleared his throat. “We shouldn't take Juliet up there. Dean's dangerous for her to be around.” 

He turned to the big happy pit bull, holding out a timid hand for her to smell. 

“Sorry, girl.” 

"You're worried about HER safety?" Crowley tried not to laugh. "Your brother may have that mark on him, but Hellhounds also seem to spook him. I bet if she got a whiff of that ornament box she might be able to lead us to whoever's responsible for it."

Since his hand wasn't bitten off, Sam reached and rubbed Juliet's head, a big goofy smile washing over his face. He leaned and scratched behind her ears with both hands. After a long moment of petting the Hellhound, Sam glanced his way. 

“Sorry. Uh, yeah,” he stepped away from Juliet and stuck his hands into his pockets, cheeks flushing slightly. “Yep. That seems like a good idea.” 

Crowley had serious doubts he'd even heard what had been said, but he couldn't muster any annoyance about it. Unlike his brother, Sam seemed to think of Hellhounds like any other dog — and he clearly adored dogs. It was quite a sight.

Feigning some exasperation, Crowley gave up holding his hand out and instead placed it on Sam's chest. Yes, such a terrible thing to have to do. The coat didn't do much to hide the kind of muscles underneath.

Now he was the one getting distracted. Bunker. Cursed Christmas baubles. Right.

The world flickered dark, and suddenly they were standing in the bunker's kitchen right next to the coffee pot.

Sam placed a big hand over his, blinking around them at the sudden change of scenery. No doubt he was keeping an eye out for his brother. Cheeks still pink, he picked Crowley's hand off of his chest and dropped it. 

“Dean?” He called out of the kitchen. 

The air, Crowley noticed, was definitely noticeably lower in temperature than when they'd left. Downright cozy and warm compared to Hell, but still.

Tiny snowflakes drifted down from the ceiling as Sam stepped through the kitchen doorway.

"In here," Dean called from somewhere out in the main room. Crowley followed Sam.

The tall brunette was in awe as they walked out into the main room of the bunker. The high arched ceiling reminded Crowley of a snow globe with the waves of delicate flakes drifting down. Sam didn't seem to be upset about it at all – in fact, he was smiling again. 

“This is kind of awesome.” He waved a hand at his brother and laughed nervously. “Awesome, but we still need to fix it.” 

Dean was near the table where they'd left their cups of coffee, which were still steaming. They'd only been gone for a few minutes up here, but it looked like he had been pacing.

"Yeah. Awesome," he said flatly, peeking at his phone. "It's worse outside — Cas can't get to the door."

"Feathers sure showed up quick," Crowley commented, raising his eyebrows.

"He just went to the gas station." Dean turned and fixed the demon with a scowl.

“We couldn't find anything in Hell, so…” Sam stepped up beside his brother, scooping up the box of cursed Christmas goodies and heading over to drop them by Crowley's feet. “We'll let the Hellhound sniff them and see if she can find anything.” 

Dean froze, looking around carefully.

"Hellhound?"

Juliet WAS taking awhile to show up, Crowley realized. He frowned and peeked back into the kitchen. No sign of her.

"I'd better see what's keeping her," the demon told them casually, and vanished.  


* * *

  
Dean checked his phone again. Nothing new from Cas. He'd gotten cold in the stupid tinsel shirt and put a flannel shirt and jacket on over it. He hugged them tighter around himself now, annoyed that a glint of silver still showed around his neck like a choker. Damned cursed Christmas junk.

Sam stood waiting by the kitchen door, lost in watching the snowflakes drifting down from the roof. He was smiling dreamily. 

It obviously hadn't occurred to him yet that snowflakes might melt and soak into all of their books and computers. 

"So how's Hell? Sounded windy," Dean commented, shoving the phone into his jeans pocket. He was still pissed Sam and Crowley had run off to Hell together right after he and Sam discussed exactly that possibility, but apparently nobody else cared. Figured.

His little brother turned to look at him, smile fading away. 

“It's white. We went outside and it was just one big snowy field. The demons were ice skating,” he added the last with a frown. “It was really weird.” 

"Ice-skating," Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows. "So Hell literally froze over." His memories of Hell didn't exactly jive with ice-skating demons and fluffy snow. Sounded better off the way it was now.

His phone buzzed, and he hurriedly pulled it out of his pocket to check the message. It was a text from Castiel.

"Cas says Crowley and his Hellhound are out there with him," he said, frowning. "Says come to the door."

Without replying, Sam started to make his way to the bunker door. The snow was beginning to pile up. It was up to their ankles. 

“Wait,” Sam stopped and turned back to Dean. “Just...don't hurt the Hellhound. Okay? She's not here to hurt anyone.” 

Dean had started after him silently, and stopped in his tracks when Sam did.

"If she leaves me alone, I'll leave her alone," he said grumpily. That was fair, right? He wondered if Sam was worried about the Mark affecting his judgment or just siding with Crowley and his Hellhound instead of Dean...

“She's just a dog, Dean,” Sam said, eyes growing sad. He frowned and started on his way again. “She's here to help us.” 

Dean hated that look — the sad eyes. Damn it. He sighed and fell into step behind Sam again.

"So that's it? You ditched me right after we talked about going to Hell together, whoops, oh well?" He crossed his arms. "I thought Crowley kidnapped you."

“I just wanted to take a quick look. We were gone for what, five minutes? Come on. The sooner we solve this the sooner Crowley goes homes.” 

Sam headed carefully up the stairs to the bunker door, keeping a tight grip on the railing. Nothing in the bunker was made to be covered in ice. It was a miracle that no one slipped yet. 

Dean followed, shaking his head. He had to wonder if Sam was missing the damn point on purpose. If Crowley grabbed one of them and took them to Hell, there was no way for the other to follow. Cas couldn't even fly there these days. Sam KNEW that.

If he wasn't worried about it, that meant he DID trust Crowley that much, and that was worrisome...

The big solid front door of the bunker was slightly shiny with a thin layer of ice. Dean pulled his phone out and sent Cas a quick text to let him know they'd arrived.

"Guess we open it up."

Sam undid all the locks and yanked the door open. A wall of snow fell in, burying his little brother up to the waist. 

“Ah! That's cold!” Sam yelled, jumping back and frantically dusting his pants off. 

Dean shoved his phone away, leaning to look out the door. Besides the dent where the snow had fallen in onto Sam, the doorway was filled with a wall of white.

"Wow. We're buried," he said.

Sam carefully moved closer again, poking at the snow. He put a hand beside his mouth and shouted to be heard through it. 

“Cas? Crowley? The door's open!” 

Dean leaned up next to Sam. For some reason, looking out the door seemed necessary to hear anything through it, even though that made no sense.

He thought he heard a muffled voice from the other side.

There was a loud shhh sound like shoveling, and the snow wall moved a bit.

Frowning, Dean stepped over and started digging into it near the top.

"C'mon, I hear 'em."

Sam bent to help, raking armloads of snow behind him. 

“I'm surprised Crowley didn't just send Juliet to dig a tunnel. She's really big.” He glanced up at Dean as he dug, smiling a bit. “Have you seen her? She looks like a pit bull. You must have seen her while you were in Hell.” 

Dean glanced at him, too, but quickly focused on the snow again.

"The one that got me didn't look like a pit bull," he said shortly. He'd seen surprisingly few Hellhounds in Hell — they were probably busy soul collecting up on earth most of the time.

The snow wall shifted again, and he heard Cas from the other side.

"Move away from the door!" Too late — the massive shape of a dog's head and paws indented through the snow, and what could only be Juliet the Hellhound came crashing through the snow wall, knocking Sam and Dean both over.

Sam landed flat on his back next to Dean. The snow padded their fall, at least. 

Hauling Dean away from the door, Sam put himself between him and the Hellhound. 

“Good girl! Good girl!” 

The excited, slightly-echoey barking sounded like a VERY large dog, but Dean was relieved there wasn't any snarling in the mix. Still, he scooted backward a few feet before standing back up.

Snow stuck to Juliet's fur. She was invisible, but the shape of her ghosted in powdery ice crystals through the air — big muscular body, a longish tail, small wickedly pointed ears, and a great empty split that must have been where her mouth melted any snow it touched. She was nuzzling her huge head up against Sam's chest, tail wagging.

"Sam, Dean!" Cas climbed over some snow and had to duck to get through the doorway, but hurried to the hunters' sides. Snowflakes clung to his dark hair and coat, even his eyelashes. "Are you alright?"

Sam caught the Hellhound in a big hug, nervously petting her head. 

“We're okay. Uh…where's Crowley?”


	6. A Few of My Favorite Things

Cas stepped closer to Dean, dusting a little snow off of his shoulder from the fall. His blue eyes really stood out with snow all around. Whoa.

"He's outside. He got a phone call."

"Probably Hell wanting more eggnog," Dean grumbled. "Sam says they're partying down there, ice-skating and crap."

“C-can you tell him to come inside the bunker? I don't know if Juliet will listen to me,” Sam said through a forced smile. He kept stroking the Hellhound's head, leaning to look out of the snow wall. “Crowley!” 

When the meaning of that sank in, Dean was torn between taking a big step backward or trying to separate his brother from the demon pit bull. In the end he stayed exactly where he was and kind of held his breath.

Cas frowned and looked out the door as well. 

"He told her not to bite anyone, if that's any comfort."

"Yes, yes..." Crowley stepped in through the snow doorway, one hand still tucked into the front of his suit to put the cell phone in some inner pocket. He looked irritated by whatever the call had been about.

The Hellhound turned and pulled easily out of Sam's grip, bouncing over to snuff loudly at her master's shoes and hands. The snow was falling off of her; the shape was just barely visible in tiny floating ice flakes. 

Sam stepped after Juliet, placing a hand on her back and patting her. 

“So. It’s snowing up here too,” he said, casting a glance past Crowley at the flurry outside. “Looks like it isn’t just Hell that’s being affected.”

"That shoots the theory that the snowman in the globe is Satan," Crowley remarked dryly, patting Juliet's head when she nosed at the shoulder of his coat. The snow drifting from the ceiling was slowly gathering on the Hellhound's back again, making her shape more visible.

"This is not good," Cas commented, closing the bunker door to block the snowy scene outside. He frowned and stepped back over near Dean, who was keeping his eyes on the Hellhound right now.

"You say snow isn't the only issue?" The angel added. Dean pulled back the collar of his jacket to reveal the shiny silver tinsel beneath, and got a raised eyebrow in response.

“The snow started after we touched the snow globe — but there’s a whole box of cursed items. Come on.” Sam waved everyone along after him as he started back down the stairs into the bunker. 

Then he slipped, flinging snow all the way as he magically rolled with the curve of the stairs. He wound up face down on the snow-covered floor of the main room. 

Dean couldn't help a small snort of laughter and he hurried down the stairs (holding onto the railing) to check on his brother.

"Jeez, Sammy, you okay?" He asked, kneeling beside Sam to check. He looked so ridiculous face-planted on the floor, but hopefully he wasn't actually hurt.

Hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the Hellhound barked and clawed footsteps scrabbled through the snow on Sam's other side, his shoulder nudging as thin air with a few snowflakes nosed at it. Juliet seemed very fond of Sam.

Sam lifted his head up, coughing and shuddering. He rolled to a sitting position and patted Juliet’s head. 

“I’m good,” he mumbled as he rubbed his cheek. A red mark was forming on his face. At least it wasn’t anything serious. He got up and dusted himself off sheepishly, pointing off into the bunker. “The box is over there.” 

"Juliet, go see if anything smells like home," Crowley told the Hellhound warmly. There was an answering bark and the light dusting of snow on the bunker floor was kicked up as she dashed off.

Dean stood and dusted snow off of his knees, frowning.

"So, Cas, so far we've got a cursed snowglobe, frickin' tinsel that turned into a shirt, and evil mistletoe that won't let you go without a kiss under it."

"Who had to kiss?" Trust Cas to go straight to the most awkward part of all of that.

Sam coughed nervously into his hand and hurried away, almost slipping several times along the way to the kitchen. Best guess was that he was going to get coffee. With fricking snow falling on their heads, a hot cup of joe sounded like a good idea.

Dean only shook his head at Cas, hoping he got the hint not to ask. He was still halfway convinced that Crowley had planned for the mistletoe situation — the demon had obviously enjoyed kissing Sam WAY too much.

"Just come along, if anybody can fix this mess it's you people," Crowley said drolly, following Sam. As expected. Dean trailed after him, and Cas fell into step, frowning at the fact that everybody knew more about the situation than him.  


* * *

  
"It's important to test these things," Crowley said again, crossing his arms. "We know it's harmless. We need to know whether the curse is broken or not from what we did."

They'd lined up the items from the box one by one, and Sam was taking note of what traits each seemed to have. Materials made of, effects if they'd caused anything, and in the mistletoe's case, how to break the curse.

That was when Crowley had pointed out that they should test the mistletoe again and see if they had broken its curse or just gotten out of its trap. Was it still cursed now? Who knew?

Sam sat back in his chair with a sigh, pausing in typing to dust the fresh snowflakes off of his laptop. 

“FINE, but not me. Dean can test it.” He looked sidelong at his brother.

Dean held up both hands. 

"Whoa, hold on a minute. I'm already cursed, remember?" He gestured down to the tinsel shirt he still wore. "Might affect the results."

"I'll do it," Cas volunteered seriously, before Crowley could comment.

“Are you serious?” Sam’s eyebrows lowered at his brother. He shut his laptop and stood up. “Okay. Cas, you just pick it up.”

Seeing Dean's look of slight panic, Crowley smirked. That excuse disqualified Dean from being the one to kiss the angel either. Tough luck.

The angel turned and calmly plucked the mistletoe from the table, holding it up above his head.

"Is that all?"

Dean watched him uneasily.

"Try to put it down."

Castiel, Crowley noted, actually WAS already trying to move his arm. It just took a second for his vessel to show any movement, mostly because his human body's arm couldn't even move a bit like the angel form's was doing.

Cas looked up at the mistletoe and frowned.

"I did."

Sam reached up and tried to pulled Castiel’s arm down. 

“Yep. It’s still cursed. Okay…” His cheeks darkened and then he was looking at Crowley. “You’re up.” He took a long step away from the angel, waving for the demon to come closer.

The look on the angel's face said that kissing Crowley was at the bottom of the list of things he wanted to do right now. Crowley stepped over and smiled at him.

"Aw, Moose, looks like he was hoping YOU would do the honors."

Shooting Crowley a withering look, Castiel sighed and put on a neutral expression.

"It doesn't matter. Just do it."

Crowley glanced between Sam and Dean. Laying one on the angel didn't sound BAD, he was just surprised neither of them was taking the opportunity.

Sam blushed deeply and glanced at Dean again. He seemed more concerned with how his brother would react than anything.

“D-do you think you being a demon would affect it? It didn’t last time.”

"Oh, no, I'm sure it'll work..." Crowley shrugged and stepped up to stand as close to the angel as possible. Castiel looked annoyed at his very presence, which only made this even more entertaining.

"You're the one who kissed Sam?" He asked, with so little enthusiasm it could have been in the negative.

Placing a hand on his cheek, Crowley leaned in nose-to-nose with him. 

"Nobody told you anything, did they?"

“Wait!” Sam cut in, hurrying back over to them. “Don’t. I’ll do it!” He put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, his face still red.

Crowley stepped back from Castiel, shooting him a knowing smirk. He didn't even have to look at Dean's face to know that he was biting his lip. If there was one thing Dean had talked about a LOT as a demon, it was how attractive Cas was to him. Demon Dean had, of course, claimed only a physical interest. Of course.

The King of Hell stood beside the ex-demon and glanced at him sidelong. 

"Pesky curses," he commented mildly, meaning the one on Dean more than the one on that surprisingly fun mistletoe.

Moose’s face was red but he leaned in and gave the angel a slow kiss. He even slipped a hand up against his neck to tip the dark haired man’s chin up.

Castiel caught Sam's wrist and pressed back into the kiss, and Crowley sighed a little. He didn't often envy anybody, but it would be nice to be where the angel was right about now.

Judging from Dean's scowl, he hadn't expected Cas to kiss back. Not like THAT, anyway. The mistletoe only let the angel lower it after the kiss ended — not a second sooner.

Sam stepped back, blushing profusely and keeping his gaze firmly on the floor. 

“Okay, it’s still cursed. Which means we can’t just work through each item, we need to destroy them.”

"Was the snow globe already cracked like this when you found it?" Crowley stepped over to the table and pointed out the cracks, trying not to snicker at the look on Dean's face.

Castiel gave Sam a shy last look and placed the mistletoe carefully back onto the table. His face looked a bit red, too. Dean, meanwhile, looked closer to green with envy.

“No. I…I dropped it,” Sam said, practically sneaking past Cas to stand beside Crowley. He cleared his throat. “It only froze up afterward.”

The demon arched a brow.

"So maybe it's only SUPPOSED to snow while you're holding it," he suggested. "Like the mistletoe. Damaging or destroying these things might just make their effects go haywire."

“That would make way more sense then endless snow.” Moose leaned around Crowley and plucked the snow globe off of the table. He turned it over in his hands quickly, cringed as he remembered that it was burning cold, and dropped it.

It slammed back onto the table top with a deafening thump. Sam rubbed his hands together and gave the demon an apologetic look. 

“Sorry. I’m having a clumsy day. I probably need more coffee.” 

"It's that or angel kisses have a paralyzing effect," Crowley teased, smirking. He almost snickered again when Castiel offered Sam his hand and Dean bristled, huffing and focusing on the cursed items like they were the only things in the room.

"If it hurt your hands, I can heal them, Sam," Cas clarified a bit awkwardly, looking at Moose's hands rather than his face. That was precious, the ages-old celestial creature was shy.

“It’s fine — they’re fine — I’m fine!” Sam stepped around to put Crowley between him and Cas, blushing all over again. “We need to focus. Should we just try to burn everything? That usually works with cursed items! The worst it could do is set Hell on fire, which was how it was to begin with, so I really don’t see a problem with it!” The younger Winchester stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets again. 

"It's not ALL fire and brimstone," Crowley replied drolly, crossing his arms. He looked down at the little frosted-over snow globe and frowned. "We need to experiment with the lesser items. Only the globe seems to affect Hell."

Dean still looked just peeved about Sam and Castiel's flustered looks at each other, but he gestured at the table in general, clearing his throat.

"Like, burn something little and see if it breaks its curse? The damned tinsel, maybe?"

“You’re wearing that. No burning yet,” Sam said. “This is affecting Earth now. We need to find a way to stop it as soon as possible. We should split up. We have a whole box of stuff to go through. I’ll take the…” The tall brunette stepped over and peered down into the box, reaching in and fishing out a cute oven mitt. “This.” 

Dean sighed heavily. 

"Guess I get tinsel."


	7. Decking the Halls

Castiel stepped over and looked at the items. Crowley poked a finger at the little black-haired angel doll.

"Who else would get this one but you, Feathers?"

Castiel shrugged and picked up the angel, examining it thoughtfully. Dean frowned at that. Maybe it was the Mark, but he seemed particularly touchy about anybody talking to Castiel right now.

Crowley scooted the snow globe back from the edge of the table, looking at the remaining red candle, reindeer statue, and cookie cutter shaped like a gingerbread man.

"I guess that leaves me—"

He was cut off by a spine-tingling bay from somewhere deep in the bottom levels of the bunker. Oh, right...Juliet had been off sniffing around, trying to find any other clues. He'd forgotten.

“Is that a good sound?” Sam picked the matching other oven mitt out of the box, glancing nervously around. The oven mitts were dark green, with gold and red glittery trees printed all over them.

"Sounds like she's found something relevant," Crowley said, shrugging. Dean had flinched at the sudden Hellhound noises, and was sticking close to Sam and Castiel.

The demon whistled loudly, slapping his thigh. "Juliet! Bring it here, darling!"

The dusting of snow on the floor gusted aside in swirls as the Hellhound bounded through space and into the room, a raggedy-looking Christmas wreath with a tattered red bow clutched in her jaws.

Sam actually smiled, bending to hold his hands out to Juliet as she approached. He was wearing the oven mitts now. As if those would save his hands from being chomped off by a Hellhound.

“What’d you find, girl? Good girl!”

Juliet wagged her tail and dropped the slightly slobbery wreath at his feet, shoving her face into the middle of the oven mitts and nuzzling at Sam's hands. The snow-dusted outline of her looked about as far from fearsome as a gigantic demon pitbull was capable of looking.

Still, Dean inched a few steps away, practically hiding behind Castiel.

The angel, meanwhile, leaned to look at the wreath.

"These all appear to be old and worn items. Perhaps they're meant to be a set," he suggested.

Sam laughed and hugged Juliet. Okay. He had seemed to like her, but he seemed really calm for someone holding a Hellhound. Really calm. Happy, even. Moose stood up and rubbed Juliet’s head, speaking to her very fondly. 

“How about a snack? Do you want a snack? Hm? Do you want a pie? Who’s wants a pie? Such a good girl!” 

"As long as Dean doesn't fight her to the death for it," Crowley added mildly, glancing at the brunette. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't feed dogs pie, Sam, it's people food."

Juliet was licking Sam's cheek, tag wagging away. Crowley knew from experience that she would LOVE pie.

"Sam...this angel has a date written on the bottom of her feet," Castiel said, holding the tree topper up. "December 24th, 1943."

“That’s wonderful, Castiel,” Sam said with a big warm smile. “Now we just need a tree.” Without further comment, Sam begin to clean up the bunker’s messy table — straightening a heap of books effortlessly into a neat stack. He began to hum ‘The Christmas Song’ as he went. 

Cas blinked after him. Dean, meanwhile, noticed instantly that something was off with his brother and he frowned.

"Let's not forget those are CURSED oven mitts," he muttered to Crowley and Cas. "Listen, I'll keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything crazy, you go see if anything important happened on Christmas Eve around here in 1943."

"You're also affected by a curse, Dean," Cas reminded him evenly. "Crowley can go check the library, and I'll remain here to watch both of you."

"Or I could stay here and YOU could walk your angel feet on to the library," Crowley countered, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel shook his head.

"You need this solved the most, Crowley. Hell is being buried in snow as we speak."

He had a point. Shrugging, the demon took a step back from the table and them. 

"Oh, FINE. Juliet will keep you all in line, kittens." The room flickered, and he vanished from sight.  


* * *

  
Sam wasn’t sure how many times he’d gone through singing the ‘Christmas Song,’ but he stopped dead when he suddenly came to his senses. 

He was standing in the kitchen in front of a counter full of brightly decorated cookies and treats. As his eyes slowly moved over the different people-shaped cookies, he recognized them. There were ones with blue ties, black ties, green shirts and red shirts. The latter two had iced on white plaid stripes. He somehow got the impression that they were supposed to be the four of THEM — Cas, Crowley, Sam and Dean. 

Sam looked hazily around the room. He felt like he had been sleepwalking or something. 

The kitchen smelled like fresh-baked cookies and sugary icing. The bright glint of tinsel caught Sam’s eye, and he looked over to find Dean stringing lit Christmas lights around the kitchen door. 

Castiel stood outside in the hallway, looking dubiously away where the lights trailed off and then back to Dean again. Sam’s brother had ditched his flannel shirt, and the tinsel was in the shape of a very glitzy holiday sweater that caught every bit of light. He cast tiny colorful prism onto the walls when he moved.

“Dean, Crowley has been gone a long time,” Cas said dubiously. “Shouldn’t we check on him?”

“He’s a big boy, Cas, he can get through the library alone,” Dean replied, waving down the hallway out of Sam’s sight. “Hey, could you bring that second string of lights in? The fridge needs to be merry and bright too.”

Shaking his head, the angel started off down the hallway.

Stepping away from the cookies cautiously, Sam went to join his brother by the door. The last thing he remembered before the weird tunnel vision of baking was promising Juliet a pie. Had he actually made her one? It would be really mean if he hadn’t… 

“Dean?” He leaned out the door and frowned. “How long have I been in here?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam and smiled, shrugging.

“No idea. You just got done with the pies when I realized what this bunker’s missing,” he said, pointing up at the lights shining above his head with a small grin. Glancing at the door quickly, he lowered his voice and added, “Where do ya think I should put the mistletoe so Cas walks under it?”

Well. Dean was definitely under the effect of the cursed items, too. Since the oven mitts had let Sam out of his domestic trance after he baked a bunch of stuff, Dean would probably be okay once the bunker had been decked out with holiday lights and garlands or something. Just like the mistletoe had released people after they kissed under it, the items seemed to compel people to use them.

“Cas?” Sam blushed. “Uh. Maybe in the doorway to the hallway? We all have to walk through there.” 

Sam surveyed the rest of the bunker. Well, the strings of colored lights definitely made the bunker more cheerful. They were the old antique bulb type, not the smaller modern ones. Most likely they were from the ‘40s like everything else had been so far.

Dean snapped his fingers and — did he just do FINGER GUNS at the kitchen door? He didn’t seem aware of it, coming over to slap Sam on the back and snag a cookie from the counter. It was probably not a coincidence that he picked a cookie with a blue tie to eat… 

“Good idea, Sammy. Dude, do these have almond oil in ‘em?” He looked at the remaining half cookie in his hand, wide-eyed. “Nice call.” 

Cas had been gone for several minutes at this point. Either the angel couldn’t find the second string of lights, or he wasn’t planning on coming back. Dean seemed distracted admiring the little cookies all over the counter, munching on the one he’d picked up before.

Dean’s cheerful attitude explained why he wasn’t freaked out that Sam had been in a haze while making enough cookies for a bake sale. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Sam stepped after Dean as he looked over the baked goodies.

“You, uh, seem to be getting into the spirit of things. Any luck figuring out what all of this stuff actually does?” 

Each item seemed to have its own motivation, but what happened when all the requirements were met? Were the items all part of some grander ritual or spell? 

Dean shrugged again. 

“Beats me. Nothing horrible seems to be happening, here. I’m gonna go help Cas find those other lights!” He turned and hurried out into the hallway, glancing around for the angel. “Hey Cas! Cas…?” The calls continued as he wandered off toward the big room with the map table.

There was a gust of chill, snow-scented air in the middle of the hot kitchen, and the snowflake-covered form of Juliet bounded out of thin air and through the door. The Hellhound immediately went to snuff at Sam’s hands, panting happily. She must have been outside playing in the snow.

That reminded Sam of the broken snow globe. Was it STILL snowing outside? The bunker must be buried in feet of the stuff by now. Hell must be even worse off, with the time difference.

Sam’s instinct was to drop down to pet Juliet, but there was no need with how tall she was. He felt for and rubbed her ears with a smile.

“Hey. Look at you.” He brushed some snowflakes off the invisible hound’s head and petted her nicely. “I need to get those glasses.” 

Juliet’s tail wagged, setting the Christmas lights around the doorway swinging. Dean seemed to have gone wherever Cas disappeared to, because Sam couldn’t hear him out there anymore. Where was Crowley?

Before starting off to locate the demon, Sam turned and snagged a cookie from the counter, offering it to Juliet on his palm. It was hard to pass up a chance to make a dog happy. 

“Good girl!” 

The snow looked almost comical when Juliet opened her mouth, leaving a big split empty spot where her gums melted it away. Sam felt her tongue lick the cookie right off of his hand, and it vanished from sight with loud crunching. A happy, echoing bark sounded through the room, and she wagged her tail again, nosing at the shoulder of Sam’s shirt. 

If Crowley was somewhere under the spell’s influence, Sam might be the only sane person here right now. Cas had seemed level-headed enough, but who knew how long that would last?

“Let’s go find Papa, okay?” Sam told the hulking hound. He figured that finding Crowley was a good move. If he was cursed, leaving him wandering around the bunker alone probably wasn’t such a good idea. Who knew what he had been doing while Dean and Cas were messing around with the lights? 

This much baking must have taken at least a couple of hours. 

At the word ‘Papa’ Juliet bounced on her paws and eagerly ran out the kitchen door and down the hallway. Whirling snowflakes and the clatter of her claws were indeed headed off toward the library. The snowing inside the bunker seemed unsteady; there were tiny flakes floating down from the ceiling, but it was too warm for them to stick, and there was no snow piled up anywhere in the hallway.

Hopefully the library would be the same.

Sam hurried after her, keeping an eye out for the demon. He vaguely remembered the others talking about the library, but he had already been lost in thinking about all the cookies he was going to bake and how to make different colors of icing at the time.

The library looked like it was also dusted white; thankfully the snow seemed like it wasn’t leaving water when it melted. The books seemed okay. Sam checked the reading nooks as they passed them.

Juliet charged ahead, sniffing around the room and wagging her tail. She suddenly sat up, going completely silent, and from the snowflakes still dusting her fur Sam could see that she was looking straight back at him.

“Moose, you smell like vanilla,” Crowley commented from behind Sam.

Sam turned around to him, casually sticking his hands into his pockets again. 

“You should smell the kitchen,” he said dryly. He stepped in and took a seat in the chair across from Crowley in the nook. The reading nooks were some of his favorite places to hide away when he had a few minutes to himself. They always smelled like old books and the leather from the chairs. 

If Crowley was affected by one of the cursed items, he certainly didn’t seem like it. He smirked as he stepped up and poked Sam’s chest with a fingertip.

“I HAVE, Sam. I visited several times while you were putting housewives everywhere to shame,” the demon replied. “You were too busy making cookies to notice me, apparently. I’m sure Feathers and Dean are off decking the halls, so to speak, so since you seem back to your senses now I’ll tell YOU first.” 

He paused as Juliet hurried over to sniff his hands, patting her nose. “Hello, darling.”

“Tell me what?” Sam leaned around the demon to pet Juliet, too. She was just so lovable. It was getting harder and harder to remember that she was a giant, soul-stealing hell-spawned monster. 

Her ears were so soft. 

The Hellhound wagged her tail, panting happily and enjoying all of the attention. Crowley leaned and planted a little kiss on top of her head before turning to Sam and straightening up. 

“A-hem. Where were we? Ah, yes.” He pulled a yellowed, neatly-folded letter out of his pocket, holding it out to Sam. “I solved your cursed ornament case.”


	8. All I Want For Christmas Is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, folks! We always knew the final chapter of this fic would post on Christmas Day, but first there's this surprise chapter for Christmas Eve. ♥ We hope this story's helped make the season a little more festive for you -- thank you for reading!

Dean had just finished stringing lights along the bunker’s stair rail when the tinsel shirt came off. 

He was standing at the bottom, looking up at his handiwork and remarking how it was the very last decoration before the entire bunker was as merry as Hell (actually, merrier, he was pretty sure they didn’t have a 67 Impala to frost with snow flocking) when strands of tinsel whooshed off of his arms and chest, falling like long confetti into a pool on the floor at his feet. 

At the same time, he came out of some kind of happy haze, and found himself standing around shirtless with Cas squinting at him.

“Whoa,” Dean said intelligently.

The angelic man looked from the pile of tinsel on the floor up to Dean's bare chest. He stared at Dean for a long moment before speaking. 

“I'll go get your shirt.” 

Without any other comment, he started off toward the hallway door, which was now framed with a string of flashing rainbow lights.

Feeling a little self-conscious, Dean scooped up the cursed tinsel and hurried after him. 

“Cas, uh, what time is it?” As they stepped through the rooms, he saw giant red bows tied to the backs of the chairs, old-fashioned rainbow lights strung on every edge of pretty much everything, and glittery silver and red garlands draped around the bookshelves. The Men of Letters logo had been sprayed with glittery snow flocking, and there was a dusting of actual snow on the floor as well.

Now that he thought of it, it was damned cold in here, too. He was starting to shiver.

Cas glanced back at him, frowning. 

“You don't know?” He paused just in front of the doorway, narrowly avoiding a jolly sprig of mistletoe that was pinned in the top of the doorway. “I knew you were acting strange... We should find the others.” In one smooth motion, Cas slipped his coat off and sat it over Dean's shoulders. 

Dean shivered and hugged the coat closer with one hand, the tinsel still hugged under his other arm. In all the time he’d known Cas, he had never worn the angel’s coat, and for some reason this seemed like a pretty big gesture. It wasn’t, really — Cas didn’t get cold, he did, it wasn’t like Dean was his prom date or something. Despite his own thoughts, or maybe because of them, Dean’s face at least was starting to warm up real fast.

“Thanks, um, buddy,” he said, blushing. The tinsel had turned into a sweater, maybe this was its fault. Maybe the word meaning of ‘don we now our gay apparel’ was flexible when it came to cursed Christmas decorations…

He realized he was just standing there hugging Cas’s coat and staring at him, and turned pink. “Listen, uh…all of this decorating stuff’s just a big blur,” he confessed. “You okay, did anything get to your head?” 

The angel seemed to be acting pretty normal.

“I'm alright. The cursed items don't seem to be affecting me.” Cas took Dean by the shoulders lightly and guided him away from the mistletoe, turning them toward the kitchen instead. “You should have some coffee. Sam said that it goes well with the cookies.” He added the last with a little squint, like he was thinking it over.

Cookies? Dean vaguely remembered some dream-like landscape of frosted sugar cookies and gingerbread men covering the kitchen counter. That, and almond and vanilla flavoring.

He glanced at Cas, who was still holding his shoulders like he might get lost on the way to the coffee pot, and smiled sheepishly.

“I’ll be okay, Cas. Listen, sorry for anything crazy I did while I was all tinseled up.” He paused, glancing awkwardly at the hallway door as a vivid memory of hanging mistletoe in a strategic angel-catching location came to him. Cas sure seemed to know where it was and avoid it now. They didn’t kiss and he forgot about it, did they?

“Aside from being uncharacteristically 'jolly,' you've spent your time decorating the bunker. Sam baked in the kitchen for a few hours and Crowley has been in the library. Oh, and Juliet is still here.” The angel stopped Dean and reached around him to pull out a pair of glasses from the trench coat's pocket. He sat them carefully on Dean's nose. 

Dean was about to say it wasn’t urgent to put them on right this second, but the sight of Juliet stopped him. The enormous Hellhound was curled up napping beside the counter with the cursed reindeer statue in her toothy jaws. She looked like an actual pit bull, cropped pointy ears and huge smiling mouth and all.

“Whoa,” Dean said for the second time since waking up from his ‘jolly’ haze. He cleared his throat and crept carefully around the giant sleeping dog, making a beeline for the coffee pot. For some reason, the Hellhound didn’t intimidate him. He wasn’t a big fan of them in general, but she was just napping there with her reindeer, not hurting anybody…

Cas followed him, stepping carefully past Juliet and keeping his voice low. 

“Sam appears to have returned to normal. The oven mitts wanted him to bake cookies, it seems. If we can figure out what the wreath and the angel are for, we should be able to complete the ritual – if that's what we want to do. It might be a bad idea.” 

Sitting the wad of cursed tinsel on the counter, Dean grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Crowley was supposed to be looking for info about what happened back in ‘43 that ended with this box of cursed stuff,” he pointed out. “If we knew what they were trying to do, we’d know what results to expect.” He paused and snagged a sugar cookie snowflake from the counter, taking a bite out of it. “Honestly so far everything just seems to want us to party.”

Dean’s mind was still on the mistletoe. What happened? Was Cas avoiding the subject? Did they kiss and it was terrible or something…?

“Why would anyone go through the trouble of making so many items if they simply want us to celebrate? That doesn't make any sense.” The angel began poking through the cookies as he frowned with thought. He picked up a cookie man in a green shirt and stared at it. “What should we do with the wreath? Those are meant to be hung on doors, correct?” 

“Uh…yep,” Dean said, looking at the cookie man, too. He’d been wearing a green flannel shirt before the tinsel sweater happened. There were tiny frosted white lines for plaid on the green and blue shirts of half of the cookies, and Sam was wearing a blue shirt today, so…

Cas had picked him out of the entire table. 

Trying to look nonchalant, Dean stuffed the rest of the snowflake cookie into his mouth and crunched on it. Why was he blushing, damn it? All signs pointed to him finally — FINALLY — laying one on his angel buddy while he was on a Christmas decorating bender, and going down in flames. Completely failing at it. His stupid cursed self probably had a candy cane in his mouth at the time or something.

“Cas,” he said, sitting the coffee cup on the counter. Turning to the angel, Dean took a deep breath, mustering courage. If this was going to end in failure and awkwardness, he at least wanted an awkward, failed kiss he remembered.

Cas turned to face him with the green clad cookie man still in hand. It looked so small and crushable there, its smiling dot-eyed face staring up at Cas obliviously.

“Yes Dean?”

Dean looked at the cookie, and he could feel his face getting warmer and warmer. He grabbed the coffee long enough to take a swig and sit it back down.

“Cas,” he said again, because that wasn’t awkward when he’d already said that and had the angel’s full attention. He cleared his throat, gesturing around to the sparkly garlands and glowing lights everywhere. “You helped me decorate, didn’t you? One person couldn’t hang up some of this stuff.”

“You asked me to,” Cas told him, looking the cookie over again. It wasn't like he actually would eat it. Angels didn't eat.

“But you humored me,” Dean pointed out, smiling despite how flustered he felt. “For hours. Thanks for that.” 

He could leave it here, he really could. But if they’d kissed under mistletoe and it was so bad Cas was pretending it never happened, he felt like he owed the angel a better take two. And, well, needed to prove that he wasn’t ALWAYS that bad at this…

“A-hem, uh, anyway, uh, Cas…” Dean glanced at the mistletoe lurking in the hallway, considering using it as a way to get to the kissing part without having to have this awkward conversation. He owed Cas better than that, too, though. “This might sound weird, and if you don’t wanna you can just say so — NO pressure, man, none — but i-if you do want to and it won’t ruin our, uh, friendship…” 

He was subconsciously inching toward the mistletoe. Noooo, he’d already decided against that! Doing a U-turn, Dean practically ran into Cas, and whoa, he should’ve taken a few minutes to properly appreciate the guy in his dress shirt and slacks and crooked tie sooner…

Hopelessly flustered, Dean snatched the cookie out of his hand and tossed it on the counter like it had been a barrier between them.

“Can I kiss you?” There, he’d said it. It was like pulling teeth, but he’d said it.

The angel blushed at the request. He looked after the cookie shyly and cleared his throat.

“I…couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Sam earlier.”

Dean froze like a deer (reindeer?) in the headlights, and his own voice echoed in his head in a hazy, way-too-merry memory from earlier: “Where do ya think I should put the mistletoe so Cas walks under it?”

“I was drunk on Christmas, man,” he said a bit desperately, grabbing Cas’s shoulders. “The mistletoe thing’s because you have to — I’m asking because I WANT to. I-if you, I mean, uh, unless…” He trailed off and blushed furiously, looking down at the little cookie he’d thrown to the counter. It had landed head-first and snapped off at the neck, and he found it even more relatable now than before.

Cas stepped in closer with a worried frown on his face, catching Dean and the coat in his arms. 

“I didn't say that I didn't want to kiss you. You didn't seem to notice the mistletoe when we were about to walk under it earlier, though.” The angel glanced away, looking a little guilty. “I...was planning a way to walk under it later.” 

Dean, hugged close enough that his nose was just about an inch from Cas’s cheek, blinked and made no effort to free himself. Being wrapped in Cas’s coat and his arms was pretty damned nice.

“Really?” He asked a bit hopefully. Almost immediately after that, the hunter frowned and glanced off the same way the angel was looking. “Wait…so we didn’t end up under the mistletoe already at some point?” Oh, thank Chuck, so he hadn’t totally screwed it up. Yet, his cynical side added. That had to be the Mark talking, so he told it silently to shut it.

“You thought we kissed?” Cas asked, meeting his gaze again. “I wouldn't have let that happen, Dean. You weren't yourself.”

“The mistletoe doesn’t give you much choice,” Dean pointed out, trying not to sound bitter as he added, “Even you couldn’t move ‘til Sammy kissed you under it before, remember?” 

He sighed and looked down at the table of cookies. That was sad, that Sam got to kiss Cas before Dean did. It was still better than Crowley kissing the angel, but only by a little.

“Sam is good at kissing,” Cas commented. Fingers gently gripped Dean's chin and guided him back to looking down at the angel. “Do you want to stand under the mistletoe, or just kiss me here?” Cas asked softly. 

Talking low made his voice shiver-worthy in the best way possible, and Dean was finding words kind of tough to arrange in any proper order right now. He ended up nodding, which looked idiotic since Cas had asked an either-or kind of question.

Dean quickly leaned in and kissed him, before he lost his nerve.  


* * *

  
Moose was trotting on ahead, the crinkled letter in hand, when he stopped suddenly. He turned around with a red face and pointed to the hallway door. 

“Maybe they're in the, uh, garage.”

Crowley barely glanced at the couple of suspicious sparkly cans of snow flocking laying on the floor like a bread crumb trail. Sam looked nice with his face all flushed like that — the only way it would’ve been better was if the blushing was Crowley’s fault. He was already plotting a way to make that happen.

“Doubt it,” he told Sam fondly. “Your brother’s usually wherever the food is, Moose.” Maybe that was where Juliet had gotten off to, too; she’d gone bounding off through space at some point, and Crowley had been too busy enjoying how much Sam looked at him when they were having a one-on-one conversation to go after her. The Hellhound was smart and tough, and the bunker was far safer than Hell, anyway.

He turned his attention back to the big, beautiful lumbering pile of flannel in front of him, humming ‘Silent Night’. A little less silent would be more fun…

“Well, let's check anyway!” Sam told him, grabbing his arm and turning the demon around to face the hall. With them both side by side, it was impossible not to notice how tall and muscular Sam was all over again. He was still blushing.

Crowley shrugged and let himself be led along. He could have teleported them to the garage, but then he wouldn’t get to marvel at Moose’s big hand gripping his arm on the way there. Why didn’t the bunker have a cursed hot tub somewhere, or cursed massage oil… Sigh.

Sam’s hand kept moving forward, but Crowley abruptly couldn’t anymore — he stopped in his tracks like he’d hit an invisible wall, and got his arm yanked on for his trouble.

“Moose,” the King of Hell said, in a patience-thinly-covering-annoyance kind of tone. “Is there a Devil’s trap in this hallway? Be honest, is that why you wanted to check the bloody garage so badly?”

Sam's hand slipped down Crowley's arm until they were holding hands as he came to a stop ahead of the demon. The brunette frowned.

“No?” He tugged on Crowley's arm. “We haven't gotten to it yet.” 

The demon wanted to be more irritated, but the hand holding was kind of…strangely sweet. He huffed and stood up to his full height, which wasn’t SHORT, it was just that Sam was so TALL. Crowley looked up at him, opened his mouth to reply…and laughed.

Of course. Who needed a Devil’s trap when they had cursed mistletoe? Apparently when it was hanging on its own, it switched from making you hold it up to forcing you to stand beneath it…as Crowley was doing right now.


	9. Merry Cursemas

“Don’t laugh, it's not funny. Come on,” Sam sighed, yanking on the demon's arm again. “Hell's probably buried under hundreds of feet of snow by now.”

Crowley ignored the tugging on his arm and shrugged, pointing up at the ceiling. 

“Can’t. Also, my demons were so bloody happy about the snow before, they’re probably building hamster tunnels down there,” he added flatly. “Ned tried to ORDER me back there earlier, can you believe that? He can bugger off, I’m on vacation for the holidays now.” Okay, he might be gloating a bit about telling off his King of the Crossroads.

Finally letting go of him, Sam huffed and ran his hands through his hair. 

“Okay! Dean and Cas are in the kitchen. Last I saw them, they were b-busy. Let's just leave them alone for a bit. Dean's been infatuated with Cas for YEARS. I'd be the worst brother in the world if I went barging in there right now!”

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“I really thought it would take the mistletoe to make that happen,” he remarked, “But apparently not.” He crossed his arms, looking at Sam expectantly. He wasn’t really going to just leave Crowley here, was he? And they’d been getting along so nicely lately, too…

Sam gave him a suspicious look down his nose and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“I guess all this cursed junk was good for something. I felt really bad kissing Cas earlier. Dean didn't need that.” 

“Oh yes,” Crowley said, starting to get annoyed now. “Yes, this was ALL about throwing together those two morons. Hooray for them. Mazel tov.” He shook his head and looked off down the hallway, frowning. Sam had enjoyed being kissed under the mistletoe before — he’d blushed and everything. What was his bloody problem now?

If Moose wasn’t going to kiss him to let him go, then he was going to be standing here awhile, considering the solution to the curse. And Sam had known Dean and Castiel were in the kitchen the whole time, so he’d apparently dragged Crowley here on purpose. Figured.

“Are you...stuck?” Sam asked from behind him. He stepped closer, finally looking up to notice the mistletoe. His expression went from surprise to smugness as he looked back down at Crowley, and he chuckled. “You are. You're stuck!”

“Took you long enough to notice,” the demon grumbled, pointing up at the mistletoe exactly as he had a moment ago. The situation was instantly less annoying as soon as he realized Sam wasn’t intentionally ignoring the fact that he was stuck. He almost found it funny. Almost. 

Sam was still smiling, though. He stepped a little closer, peering up at the mistletoe. He squinted at it and nodded.

“Yep. That's the same stuff.”

Crowley lowered his arms to his sides and looked at Sam with his best shining, earnest gaze. It was a little rusty, but he’d used this look a lot during his Crossroads days, and it generally worked back then. And hey, actually liking to look at Sam probably helped make it more genuine this time. 

“Are you going to make me beg? Because I might like that more than you expect,” he warned. Well, that was the truth.

“How about,” Sam stepped even closer, keeping just out from under the mistletoe, “We make a deal?”

Crowley had to admit, deviousness looked good on Sam. He raised his eyebrows and looked the hunter in the eyes, holding up his hands.

“I’m your captive and VERY rapt audience, Moose.”

Sam smiled down at him, a playful twinkle in his eyes. 

“There's this big park about an hour from here. It's closed. Nobody goes there anymore and it's really overgrown – and probably covered in snow right now. But…” He paced carefully around the demon. “…When we get all of this crazy snow stuff sorted out, I was thinking maybe you and me, and Juliet, could go take a stroll.” He shrugged as his courage seemed to falter. “It's been fun having her around here...and you.” 

Crowley had always joked that Castiel looked dense doing the little head tilt and squinty face thing, but he was doing exactly the same thing right now. 

“A date,” he said slowly, lowering his hands. “In exchange for a kiss? Maybe I missed something, Moose — I seem to get everything out of this deal.”

Sam's cheeks flushed and he shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess that's true.” He rubbed his neck with a hand and chewed his lip. “This is why I'm not a demon.”

Crowley smirked and offered his arms.

“Well I am, so I have no qualms taking complete advantage of you and accepting,” he purred. “You want a kiss? Come here and take it from me.”

Sam moved in closer, stepping up to be chest to chest with the demon. Without a bit of hesitation, he slipped his arms around Crowley's shoulders and leaned down to kiss him. A piece of Sam's hair tickled the demon's cheek as the brunette dipped him back in a flourish and their lips parted again. 

Crowley looked up at him with hooded eyes and slowly smirked. 

“Best deal I ever made,” he murmured. 

Now, did the mistletoe consider Sam free, or would they be FORCED to kiss again in order to free him now that he’d stepped underneath it? The first seemed more likely, but Crowley was hopeful for the second.

Sam had made a good point about Hell still being buried in snow, though. He’d have to address that sooner or later, and that meant breaking the curse, and THAT meant dragging Feathers and Squirrel away from each other long enough to do so. Bloody Hell.

“I…suppose we should deal with the curse and get it over with,” he said reluctantly.

“Mm hm,” Sam murmured, leaning in to kiss Crowley again. The second kiss was less thoughtful – like maybe Sam had considered the mistletoe thing, too. He broke away reluctantly and nodded. “Uh, yeah. We should probably...do that.” 

Clearing his throat, Sam took a long step back. He fidgeted on his feet and looked anywhere but Crowley. 

Crowley carefully stepped out from under the mistletoe, which just so happened to mean stepping over toward Sam. Oh, darn.

Taking one of the hunter’s big hands in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it gently.

“Or we could just stay cursed and be merry,” he suggested sweetly. “You and I both read that letter — where’s the harm?”

Sam's cheeks flushed again and he looked away. 

“We should at least tell Dean and Cas. If they're not too busy smooching,” he added. Did he sound a bit jealous or was that just Crowley's imagination? “Once we hang up the wreath and wait twenty-four hours, the items all become harmless. Until next year. It might have to become tradition to make Hell freeze over.” Sam looked his way at last, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Since someone bloody broke the snow globe, I suppose so,” Crowley replied, but he was smiling right back. The demons were being so merry because, like Dean with the tinsel and Sam with the oven mitts, they were all under the effect of the cursed snow globe. The BROKEN cursed snow globe that just plain didn’t stop its individual effect by being used like the other items. The wreath was like a key, though, and ought to put a stop to everything after the time limit.

“Oh, alright, Moose,” Crowley added, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll tell them. I’ve got to see their faces when they hear WHY somebody cursed a box of Christmas ornaments.” 

In a blink, they were standing in the hallway just outside the kitchen. The entire bunker was decked out in garlands, lights and bows just like the hallway earlier had been. Squirrel had done some climbing, apparently — some of those garlands were up HIGH.

Sam slapped a hand over his, looking around them quickly. He looked down to Crowley.

“Is Juliet still sleeping?”

“Apparently not,” the King of Hell said, looking into the kitchen in bemusement. Dean and Castiel were gathered around the countertop, where they’d cleared a spot among the cookies for a big serving platter with a strangely familiar shape on top in gingerbread. Was that…the Impala? 

Sam could not see Juliet, but Crowley was pretty sure he noticed when Dean tossed a gingerbread scrap over the counter and it disappeared into the Hellhound’s mouth with a loud crunching sound. 

“There you guys are,” Dean said, in the most phony annoyed voice Crowley had ever heard. Suuure he minded them taking so long to get here…

“I don’t see any cursed mitts on you,” Crowley remarked, stepping up to the counter to look over the gingerbread Impala. It was a clumsy but loving recreation of the car, complete with gingerbread men in blue and green plaid in the front seats, and a gingerbread must-be-an-angel in a blue tie in the back. 

Snagging a cookie man with a black tie, Crowley casually swapped Blue Tie for Blue Shirt, sticking the obvious cookie versions of him and Sam in the back seat together. 

“Fixed it for you.”

Dean frowned, but he wasn’t switching Blue Tie and Green Shirt away from the same seat, the demon noted smugly.

Sam joined them, smiling brightly at the little version of Baby. 

“Nice.” He produced the crinkled letter from his pocket and offered it to his brother. “Crowley found this. I guess the Men of Letters weren't known for their holiday cheer.” 

Dean exchanged a glance with Castiel and blushed faintly, gesturing around to the lights and garlands everywhere. 

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, owning all of this.” 

Crowley listened to them but turned his attention to Juliet, rubbing her ears and petting the gingerbread crumbs off of her big nose. 

“Having a good time, darling? Me, too,” he cooed, chuckling when she licked his hand. “Now where did you put that reindeer? Did you eat him?”

“I guess some guy made all of the cursed ornaments after everyone refused to go to his Christmas party.” Sam sat the letter on the counter top since Dean hadn't made any motion to take it from him and leaned on his elbows to look over the gingerbread Impala more closely. 

“Seriously?” Dean snatched up the letter, quickly reading the same words Sam and Crowley had both already read. The demon sat up, patting Juliet’s head.

“That’s right, instead of just getting better friends, he did things the supernatural way,” Crowley said almost fondly. “He cursed all of these things to make people have a great Christmas party AND to remember it being bloody fantastic, and considering how Hell’s affected by the snow globe, I’d say a demon had a hand in accomplishing that.”

“He sold his soul,” Dean said, turning from him to Sam and raising his eyebrows. “Because nobody came to his party? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I guess so,” Sam said with a shrug. He sat up and gestured to Crowley. “At least we know how to end the curse. We just have to hang up the wreath after all the decorations are up. Where's the angel and the reindeer? I think those are the last two other than the wreath.” Sam leaned to look at what Crowley was touching. He couldn't see Juliet, but his smile widened just from looking that way. 

“Juliet had the reindeer last I saw it,” Crowley offered, shrugging too. “Which means she likely chewed it up and ate it.” He wasn’t terribly concerned; according to the letter, the reindeer was used to involve pets and wildlife in the Christmas party, and Juliet fulfilled that just by being there. 

“’They’ll come to THIS party, and they WILL have the time of their sad little lives, and they will sing my praises,’” Dean read from the letter in an overly dramatic ‘40s news announcer type of voice. He shook his head, cracking into a little smile. “Well, he probably got his way for the next ten years. Okie dokie. Cas, where’d you put the angel?”  


* * *

  
Dean woke to the kind of faint throbbing headache that could only be caused by whiskey. A lot of whiskey. He blinked and groggily sat up, finding himself on a nice gray plaid couch he’d never seen before. It had a big bow on one side, so either they all had drunkenly hauled it into the bunker last night, or Santa had been by.

Speaking of everybody else, Dean finally noticed there was an arm around his waist, and when he turned his head he was looking straight at Cas, who was (of course) neither asleep nor hung over. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” The angel leaned and pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead. He shifted to hug him with both arms. “How is your stomach? You shouldn't eat that much gingerbread.” 

Across the room on the steps leading up to the library was Sam. He was in his cozy looking red pajamas, with a blanket slung around his shoulders and...nothing snuggled in his arms. The nothing HAD to be the Hellhound. Sam was smiling in his sleep, slowly bobbing up and down in the air as Juliet breathed. 

Being kissed by Cas was a very new development, and Dean felt his face getting hot as he blinked at Sam contently cuddled up with the giant Hellhound. He must’ve lost the glasses at some point, because he couldn’t see Juliet anymore. 

A blur of memories from the night before came to him all at once. Him and Sam laughing and eating pieces of the gingerbread Impala. Everybody sipping spiked eggnog, singing Christmas carols and being extra huggy. The four of them opening the bunker door to hang the cursed wreath and just laughing when a small avalanche of snow piled inside. 

They’d hung up the wreath at the start of the evening, and there was nothing left to do but actually celebrate Christmas, so they’d had quite a party. The place was all decorated and there were cookies and everything, so it worked out.

A few other things really worked out, too, no mistletoe required. Dean turned to Cas and smiled almost shyly. 

“I feel a little sick, but I don’t even care. I got YOU for Christmas.”

“And I have you.” Castiel smiled and snuggled Dean closer. Sam stirred in his sleep, rolling over a bit to cuddle up to the Hellhound better. Dean felt Cas chuckle. “We should have gotten Sam a dog for Christmas.” 

Cas didn’t laugh too often. It was nice. So was being snuggled — SNUGGLED — by the angel.

Crowley winked into existence beside Sam, a cup of tea in hand, and gave him and the invisible Hellhound a very fond little smile. Dean got the distinct impression Sam HAD just gotten a dog for Christmas — and that Dean might be getting a demonic inlaw soon. At the moment he was too happy being wrapped in Castiel’s arms to worry about it.

Sighing happily, he leaned his head back on the angel’s shoulder. He blinked up at the ceiling, though, noticing how not completely coated in lights and garlands it was.

“Hey, where’d all the Christmas stuff go?”

“It all vanished. I assume when the sun rose.” Cas glanced up too. “I don't know the exact time. I was distracted.”

“Oh, the cursed things? They’re all back in their dusty box,” Crowley cut in, smirking when Dean jumped a little. It was easy to forget there were people other than Cas in the room at the moment. That, and the demon had just appeared over beside the couch, because of course he did. “They’re still cursed — I bet they’re just waiting for next Christmas to roll around.”

“Great,” Dean said dubiously. “We’re never touching them again.”

“Come on, Squirrel, I’d say more good things happened than bad, wouldn’t you?” Crowley nodded at Cas pointedly and poofed himself back over to sit beside Sam. He picked his tea up from the nearby table and sipped it. “Consider this a win.”

Dean looked at Cas and smiled again.

“Okay, point. This’s the fluffiest curse we’ve ever seen.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think he's right,” Cas told Dean quietly. “Hell being buried in snow wasn't a bad thing. You ate cookies,” the angel brushed his fingertips through Dean's hair and smiled again. “Lots of cookies.” 

Sam sat up suddenly across the room, blinking around until he spotted Crowley. He rubbed his cheek and lay back down against the invisible hound, mumbling to the demon. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“So VERY merry, Moose,” Crowley purred, leaning to kiss the top of his head. Dean should’ve hated to see that, but it actually looked kind of sweet of him.

“We got cursed, we partied, it wasn’t a bad time,” Dean decided, smiling up at Cas. “Merry Christmas, Cas. If there’s a New Year’s box, though, we’re not touching it.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading our silly, fluffy antics fic! We hope everybody's having a merry, merry day today. ♥ Sam, Dean, Cas and Crowley certainly are. Comments and kudos always appreciated!


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